Journal

Short, tired, trout-filled post...

So yesterday I flew down to Chicago to see the Amanda Palmer show. It was wonderful. I was going to sign for people with Amanda afterwards, but a deadline was growling at my heels so I nipped back onto the tour bus and wrote something for the Independent on Sunday that was meant to be a Christmas Ghost story, but the ghost story I was writing was so damned depressing I decided to leave it for another time and wrote something about being being a little Jewish kid lobbying my parents for a Christmas Tree instead. The deadline was five in the morning (my time, 11.00 am London time)and it was done by one in the morning.

I rode the tourbus home from Chicago.

When I woke, there was an email from the editor in London saying she'd accepted it. I was thrilled and then I panicked -- what if my parents thought it was libellous? I sent it to my Dad, and got a message back saying he thought it was funny.

Took Amanda, Zoe Keating and half the Danger Ensemble, and the dog to a trout farm. Ate too much trout, cooked wrapped in newspaper, later in the evening. All's good. I'm tired but well fed and happy...